


Hearts Are Heavy Burdens We Shouldn't Have to Bear Alone

by bappy211



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Flashbacks of Hell, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Dean Winchester Whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Season/Series 04, Self-Worth Issues, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, blowjob, john winchesters A+ parenting, slight D/S dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bappy211/pseuds/bappy211
Summary: While torturing Alastair for the angels, the demon flips the script and Dean finds himself tied up at Alastairs mercy again which causes flashbacks of his time in hell. As always his angel swoops in and saves the day, but recovery is harder than Dean thought it would be, not that he would ever admit that. Luckily he has a very patient Cas by his side, until he doesn’t.
Relationships: Alastair/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fic so please hit me up with any suggestions! I'll try warning about anything that isn't included in the tags pre-chapter if they pop up, if you notice anything I didn't tag/warn about that I should have please let me know!
> 
> Thank you to my multiple betas who helped me figure out layout and breakdown!

Before he can process what has happened, Dean finds himself with his back pressed against the unforgiving concrete wall, feet scrabbling for purchase, trying to alleviate the pressure on his windpipe. With tears starting to prick at the corner of his eyes, he desperately tries to get any small amount of oxygen into his burning lungs. As he focuses on the face mere inches from his own, the confusion and panic only grows. Alastair, the demon that had been securely chained just seconds ago, now had his strong and slender hand wrapped around Dean’s neck, a sadistic, malicious smile spreading across his face that Dean knew better than he would ever admit. 

It’s the face that is there when he closes his eyes, the face that prevents him from getting anything resembling restful sleep, the face that had been the one constant during his time in hell, the one who taught him how to hurt, how to maim and how to terrify. Alastair had shown Dean who he really was, how twisted and truly sinister he could be when given the chance. Now he once again had Dean at his mercy, and Dean knew what he was capable of. He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse having first hand experience being on the receiving end of Alastair’s torment. On one hand he could steel himself; he didn’t have to guess how bad it would get, didn’t have to wonder if he would make it out alive. He knows how this always goes, and he finds himself paralyzed with panic as memories come screaming back to the surface, putting him right back on the rack with that same face sneering down at him.

Alastair finally releases Dean just as the black spots start to take over his vision, just as he stops struggling, just as he comes to terms with the reality this might be how his story ends. Dean somewhat ungracefully slides down the wall, making his way to the damp floor, legs splayed out awkwardly under him, his sole focus on trying to suck in as much oxygen as humanly possible. He hacks and chokes as he tries to even out his vision again. As his breathing steadies, he starts attempting to put everything together, trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong, how Alastair had gotten unshackled and taken him by complete surprise. Dean was better than that. He had been trained better than that, knew not to let his guard down, ever, but he had, and he would clearly pay for it now. Before he can come up with a plan to escape, his head is yanked backward by a hand in his hair, dragging him along. Dean can only imagine how completely and utterly panicked and pathetic he looks, being pulled across the dirty floor, legs flailing frantically, hands gripping the arm dragging him along desperately, trying everything he can to not be at Alastair’s mercy again, to not be this demon’s plaything one more time.

Dean's frantic struggles make no difference to Alastair. He doesn’t even register the nails clawing at his arm, causing jagged lines of blood to bead to the surface. He doesn’t notice the kicks that land to his legs and abdomen as he attaches cold, metal cuffs to Deans wrists. He may notice the anxiety and dread in Dean's eyes as those same cuffs that should still be attached to Alastair click shut instead, attaching Dean to the same contraption Alastair has been attached to maybe five minutes previously. The demon may notice the tears pooling in Dean's eyes, his ragged breath only becoming more irregular by the second, or the way his hands shake as he is once again helplessly bound by a sadistic monster. If he does, he doesn’t mention it. 

Alastair definitely notices the single tear that escapes from Dean's eye, making its way down the hunters flushed and dirty cheek, a single small reward before he even really even starts. He knows the eldest Winchester had been completely and utterly broken during his time in hell, knows those images, smells, and sounds are still playing with his head, knows he hasn’t forgotten every grueling detail. Alastair can’t lie to himself; he’s almost giddy at the prospect of breaking this man down again, piece by piece, slowly and methodically. To hear his screams again, to hear him beg for sympathy that he was well aware he would never get, to watch his face become drenched with his warm salty tears. Alastair can’t forget how wonderfully this particular human fell apart and he has been craving it since the day that damned angel had pulled him out of the fire.

******

Dean doesn’t miss the giddy excitement that flashes in Alastair’s eyes as that one damn tear betrays him by slipping down his face, exposing the fact that he is truly terrified, but not only that, he is angry. Angry at himself for letting Alastair to get the upper hand, assuming it had been some misstep of his that had allowed Alastair to break free in the first place. Angry that he had once again fucked something up, in turn letting people down and breaking promises he had made. It seemed to be an ongoing theme in his life lately, messing up, chasing people away, hurting those he would do anything to protect and ultimately not being strong enough to be the man his father expected him to be, that Cas needed him to be, that Sam deserved him to be. Maybe this is where he really belongs, on the receiving end of Alastair’s torment, being punished for all the mistakes he’s made, atoning for the numerous innocent lives irrecoverably altered, almost always for the worse, simply because they had the misfortune of associating with one Dean Winchester. The thought that maybe he deserved this, that this would somehow balance the cosmic scales was somehow comforting to Dean, comforting in a way a lap belt might be comforting as a plane falls out of the sky, but right now Dean would take any small comfort he could scrape together.

The dark comfort is short lived as Dean’s eyes follow Alastair’s, looking over the makeshift table strewn with holy water, salt, and countless metal instruments, glinting in what little light is given off by the handful of buzzing lightbulbs overhead. It's such a ‘torture chamber’ stereotype Dean could almost laugh at the sheer absurdity of the scene. He can’t pull his eyes away from the table; he knows what’s there, had studied over it before starting in on Alastair. He wonders if Cas had picked out each tool purposefully, thinking of what harm Dean could inflict with each one and what information he would be able to pull out of Alastair between screams and moans of pain. Little did Castiel know he put his faith in someone who only seemed to let people down, who messed up once again, and who was now the one who would be writhing and screaming and paying for his sins. He almost hopes he does die here in this room, because he doesn’t know if he can face Cas, if he can stand seeing the disappointment and contempt as the angel realizes Dean isn’t who Cas thought he was.

_It isn’t anything new. Dean had seen a similar look painted across his father’s face more times than he can count. There were years when that was the only look John afforded his oldest child. A look filled with utter disapproval, disgust, and disdain. Dean couldn’t even blame John, he had left Sammy alone and the youngest brother had run away, but Dean hadn’t known that, he had thought he had been taken, kidnapped, killed. He would never forget the feeling of his stomach dropping to the floor when he opened the door to their cheap, musty motel room and Sammy wasn’t sitting on the gaudy bed spread reading some lore book like always. The tears that started to freely flow as he frantically checked the bathroom, under the beds, in the closets, shouting Sam’s name until his voice was hoarse, his throat burning. The unadulterated fear when he heard the Impala pull into the parking lot, locking eyes with John as he stepped out of the car, and made his way over to a shaking, sobbing Dean who was trying desperately to explain what had happened._

_Just when Dean thought his dad would pull him into a hug and tell him it would be okay, that Sam would be okay, he was instead met with a hard stare and a slap across his face. As the burn in his cheek bloomed and spread much like the shock covering his face, John told him to “man up and stop crying.” “_

_You’re the reason Sam is gone,” he said, “you weren’t there to protect him, this is your fault…” John’s tirade faded as he made his way back into the motel room, grabbing their stuff and throwing it into the back of the car._

_Dean quietly slid into the backseat, holding back his tears and tamping down his emotions, which were running wild. Even after they discovered Sammy was fine and had simply run away on his own, holing up in some abandoned house with junk food, sugary beverages and a dog he had found, John never looked at Dean quite the same as before. He never missed a chance to voice his displeasure with the eldest son or explain in great detail all the ways he was a total disappointment and was hardly fit for the name Winchester._

The rough metal cuffs around Dean’s wrists are attached to a type of pulley system he hadn’t noticed previously and only now takes note of as he’s hoisted vertically so the toes of his worn brown boots barely scrape the floor. The metal immediately digs into the sensitive skin around his wrists, no doubt digging in deep enough to break skin. If left long enough, the position will undoubtedly result in blood running down his arms.

For a moment his feet scramble, attempting to find purchase on something to lessen the pressure on his wrists and shoulders, when after a minute or two it proves a futile endeavor, he stills. Dangling helplessly, pathetically, and with a growing pit in his stomach, he notices Alastair stalking closer with a sick and predatory smile plastered across his narrow pale face. Dean has seen this smile before, too many times before, nearly every day for the 30 years that he spent on the rack in hell. He hated the uncontrollable dread and anxiety that bubbled up in him at the sight of the demon slinking closer. He knew his tormentor could practically smell it wafting off of Dean, knew that he got off on knowing that he was the one who ultimately broke the infamous Dean Winchester, that he so easily reverted him back to that helpless, terrified and wide-eyed four year old running out of his burning family home with his baby brother wrapped in his too tiny arms. Except this time he knows no one is running out of that burning house behind him, no one would wrap their arms around him, tell him it’s okay, allow him to simply break down and be weak for one moment without any ramifications.

Dean isn’t sure why he’s longing for something he never really had anyway, he’s always been the strong one, always been the one protecting Sammy, the one assuring Bobby he was okay and would handle whatever present threat they were dealing with, always the shoulder to cry on for his friends, patting backs and wrapping his strong arms around others. He was always the one silently breaking down in the dark of a dirty cheap motel room while Sam went out for a run, crying alone in the Impala on some desolate country road after a hunt where he just couldn’t save everyone despite what he thought were his best efforts, falling to his knees on an empty dirt road shouting out into the lonely night engulfing him asking the stars above why he is the one who has to save everyone, why this pressure is on him, why he can’t have a regular simple life. Not even asking for a happy one, just a simple blue collar American life, not this hell scape he had been forced into.


	2. Chapter 2

As his emotions threaten to take control Dean slowly works on steadying his breathing, reigning himself and his train of thought in, instead focusing on the pain radiating from his wrists. Pain he knows, pain he can work with.

When he glances up he is met with Alastair's piercing eyes, staring intently at him, as if he knows the places Dean's brain had been, enjoying the varied emotions playing out across his face, the fear, the near hysteria, the overwhelming crushing depression and sadness, the anger and ultimately the resignation of the current situation. Dean focuses on accepting the impending pain, knowing there's no way out, knowing what this demon is capable of, remembering what he experienced thousands of times in hell. But this was different; they were now topside and he knows that means physical injuries won’t be erased for a clean slate the next day, he knows he won’t be given the chance to opt out of his own pain, he knows Alastair can hold one hell of a grudge and, if he lives long enough, he knows this will be drawn out for days, maybe even weeks.

Torment and torture not only spanning physical abuse, but psychological anguish as well which may just be Alastair’s specialty. Dean has never really been bothered by pain, hell sometimes he even enjoys if given the right circumstances, but the psychological pain he knows Alastair is able to inflict is not something he may ever have the proper tools to deal with. He would prefer to be taken apart piece by piece physically, any day of the week; as soon as anyone ventures into his head and starts poking around he immediately recoils and shuts down. There is just too much buried there that could be used to fan the flames of his own self-doubt, self-loathing, shame and more that he wouldn’t even know how to properly put into words. 

Alastair know this, he had been inside Dean's head. He had torn down any semblance of walls or safety he had attempted to build up around his more painful memories, of which there were plenty. While down below, Alastair dug up every single scrap of shame and guilt and wielded them with the same level of skill and precision he did any other tool he had at his disposal, making Dean relive the moments that caused them, rehash the thoughts he tried shoving so deep they wouldn’t ever see the light of day. Slowly and meticulously carving out any positive feelings, thoughts or memories and tossing them aside, only leaving more room for the dark and twisted and negative things in his head, free to run rampant and cause destruction on a level Dean didn’t even think was possible. 

_It hadn’t taken long for the tears streaking down his face to burn hot with shame and embarrassment, for the pathetic begging to start, often interrupted by guttural sobs Dean hadn’t even known lived in him. He hated the words that had come out of his mouth whenever Alastair started in with the mental games and warfare like this, but this day in particular was one that would wake him up drenched in sweat, fists tangled in the sheets clinging for comfort, tears in his eyes, filled with anger and shame for years to come._

_He had just wanted it to stop, would have given almost anything to just make it stop, and the mortifying part was that Alastair hadn’t even touched him. There was no blood flowing freely from gaping wounds, gashes exposing bits of white bone, no purple bruises maring his freckled skin. Yet, with every single breath Dean felt as though he was being flayed from the inside out, with every new dark memory dredged up from the depths of his subconscious, with every reminder of how utterly useless and worthless he was his fears were more than substantiated, the hurt he had buried for decades finally crashing to the surface all at once. It felt as though every single nerve ending was on fire, alighting Dean with the most profound and unexplainable anguish he had ever experienced.  
_

_Writhing and screaming out, lashing against his bindings as his audience of past regrets, hidden secrets and unmeasurable blame grew with every passing second. Finally when Dean simply could take no more, could no longer bear the unending suffering and had completely and totally lost himself drowning in the pain, unable to keep his head above the surface any longer he croaked out the words he never thought he would say, the words he vowed would never pass his lips,_

_“Okay, okay, please...just please make it stop!”_

_Almost instantly the pain subsided just enough for Dean's head to stop swimming and he was able to regain some small semblance of control over his breathing. When he glanced toward Alastair he noticed the unmistakable look in Alastair's eyes, one of pride and pure excitement over what he knew was coming next. As Dean panted, still catching his breath, his head was roughly yanked back as Alastair leered uncomfortably close to Dean's ear, his hot breath puffing on Deans wet cheek,_

_“What do you want boy?” Alastair whispered, practically spitting out the last word, “Use your words now and tell me exactly what you want.”_

_Dean couldn’t miss the air of condescension in his words, which only added to the amount of disappointment he felt in himself. He closed his eyes, absolutely hating himself for what he knew he was agreeing to, as the remnants of shame and fear came crashing down around him again, blanketing him, almost comfortingly in some twisted way._

_It was almost freeing realizing that this was always where this would end. He had always been pretending to be the strong one, the brave one, the happy one. Obviously he wasn’t, he was weak, a disappointment and a failure, which meant the fact he was going to give in to Alastair, give in to hell wasn’t really a surprise to anyone, least of all himself. After all, everything the demon had pulled out of him clearly showed where he was meant to be. He had been delusional to think otherwise, to think he would have ever been able to hold out against a master manipulator like Alastair when he himself was nothing more than an inconsequential waste of space whose only skills in life were drinking copious amounts of alcohol, causing pain and leaving scars on every single person he touched. When he finally spoke he didn’t recognize his own voice, it was hoarse, barley more than a whisper,_

_“Please, no more. I’m done, I’ll do whatever you want, just please sto…” An unexpected sob tore through Dean's chest; he wasn’t even aware he was still crying._

_Alastair grinned that predatory grin of his that now had a hint of sheer joy laced within. Dean’s tormentor was still much too close to his face, hand still keeping a tight grip in his hair, the sharp tingle in his scalp barely even registering._

_“Oh, my dear boy, you want down? You want off the rack?” Alastair asked with an air of sarcasm in his voice._

_Dean once again closed his eyes, continuing his decline of self-loathing and hatred, as his tears continued to carve tracks down his flushed face. He simply nodded._

_“And in exchange, you agree to begin training under me, to learn the ways of Hell, how to punish, torture and break any soul placed on the rack in front of you?” the demon crooned, not even trying to hide the anticipation and eagerness dripping off each word of the proposal that had been laid out for Dean since his first day here._

_Once again all Dean could do was nod, eyes closed as the typical screams and cries of hell surrounded him. Alastair harshly yanked his head back, snapping it against the rack making a loud thud as it bounced off the rough wood_

_“Son, I need to hear you. I know you can use that pretty little voice of yours. Sing for me boy,” Alastair commanded in a tone that left zero room for argument, not that Dean had it in him to argue at this point anyway._

_He knew Alastair just wanted to hear him admit defeat, wanted to bask in completely breaking the eldest Winchester brother, something so many said could never be done, wanted Dean to make it clear that one of the monsters he had hunted for most of his life had succeeded in turning him into one as well._

_“Yes! Okay, yes, I’ll become the monster you want me to be, I’ll carve, maim, break and inflict unspeakable pain on whatever soul you place in front of me,” Dean all but screamed, a bit of hysteria creeping in. “Just please,” he continued, quieter, begging. “Make it stop.”  
_

_As the last word broke off the floodgates opened and Dean began uncontrollably sobbing, the full realization hitting him harder than anything that had been thrown at him thus far._

_Realizing how easily he had broken, how readily he had begged to let Alastair agree to it, simply because he couldn’t face what was in his own head. Coudn’t toughen up enough to tamp down his own fucking thoughts and feelings.  
_

_He knew if his dad could see him now, his oldest son, his warrior, a broken, sobbing mess he would have been called names, told to man up, questioned why John had spent decades training someone who was just going to give up and give in at the first sign of some slight discomfort. He would have undoubtedly had something to say about more than a few of the repressed feelings and memories that had been exposed. Actually, maybe those would have answered the questions about Dean’s manhood for him. At least he would have known what a disappointment he really was then, right down to the very fabric of who he was._

Dean isn’t ready to face that again, isn’t ready for his feebly constructed walls to be broken down once again brick by brick. This time they would probably just tumble down without much resistance. It’s not easy packing all of that away securely back in the safe recesses of your mind once it’s been blown wide open; Dean had come to realize this after countless sleepless nights, nightmares and a lot of misdirected anger at everyone around him. He didn’t think he had the wherewithal to do all of that again, if he even made it out this time. After all, he didn’t have the safety net of the soul for a soul deal topside. All he could do was endure whatever Alastair decided to deal out for as long as he possibly could. He just hoped he drifted away into the darkness before he was completely decimated and no doubt embarrassed, but he had never been someone who got what they really wanted, only what he deserved, and that meant he was right where he belonged. 

*******

Dean closes his eyes, took a few deep breaths to steady his wandering thoughts. Mentally at least; physically he’s still dangling a few inches off the ground. Blood slowly dripping down his arms from where the metal cuffs around his wrists had cut into his flesh, the ache in his shoulders dull but constant. His fingers, which had previously been plagued with a sharp tingling sensation, are now simply numb. He knows that isn’t a good sign and probably indicates some significant damage, but he’s not overly concerned with that as he has very little faith that he’ll get out of this intact. 

As he steels himself for what he knew was about to happen, trying to promise himself he wouldn’t beg, cry out or give any type of satisfaction to the sadistic asshole in front of him, he knows they’re all hollow promises. He knows this demon can get to him like no one else had, break him down without breaking a sweat. Alastair can completely and utterly destroy him until he’s promising anything just to make it stop. And what Alastair had told him before the tables had turned is proof enough that he’s the weak one, weaker than his dad who hadn’t begged or cried for the torture to stop. He hadn’t made a deal to devolve into a monster whose sole purpose was hurting others. John had taken his punishment like a man, gritted his teeth and dealt with it day in and day out for decades. Dean will try to put up a façade, a mask to try to lie to himself that he can and will endure this, but both he and Alastair know the truth. He is going to crumble, grovel, and he’ll fold like a house of cards. 

As the demon looks over the instruments of destruction Cas had laid out for Dean to use mere hours ago, the thought of his friend unexpectedly makes Dean's chest hurt. He’d let the angel down, failed at the task entrusted to him, and now Cas would no doubt leave, like everyone did once they realized the person Dean really is. Cas will have no further use for someone who can’t finish what he started, and messes up the simplest of tasks.

The realization crashes over him. He doesn’t want to—no he can’t, lose Cas. He was just starting to get used to having the angel around, to the way he always seemed to be in Dean's personal space, the way he constantly fluttered in and out without warning, the scent he always left behind that had seemed to weave its way into the fabric of the Impala’s seats, always present even if Cas wasn’t. The subtle aroma of pine trees mixed with that scent that fills the air after a gentle spring storm as the sun begins to peak back out from behind the heavy clouds, water dripping off tree branches as the birds begin to sing again. 

That is Castiel, angel of the Lord. He’s a thunderstorm, loud like thunderclaps, brilliant and unexpected like each crack of lightning, refreshing and comforting as the pitter patter of raindrops on a roof. Then, underneath all of that, often sneaking out almost shyly, unsure, is a warmth that Dean feels deep down in his bones, an overwhelming calm and rightness that was so often missing from his life. He hadn’t ever told Cas, or anyone, any of this and he never will, but he really doesn’t want to lose the only good and comfortable thing in his life.

With that thought he makes a promise to himself that he knows will probably be easier to keep than the previous ones he’d told himself. If he gets out of this somehow he’ll tell Cas how he feels, or at the very least make sure he knows how much he likes having him around, how appreciated he is, how glad Dean is that Cas had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. That he’s grateful this angel saved him every single day since Dean had dug himself out of that shallow grave. 

If he’s completely honest he knew he was gone the moment Cas entered that old abandoned barn, sparks flying, gunshots ringing out, brilliant blue eyes, tousled dark hair and that god awful trench coat Cas was far too attached to. Dean will never forget when he plunged his knife into Cas’ chest. The fucker had glanced down at the blade impaling him, pulled it out and dropped it to the floor unceremoniously and then literally smirked back up at Dean, amused. From that moment Dean had only been lying to himself. He’s in love with Cas, and has been since day one. 

The sudden realization paired with actually admitting it to himself causes a delightful warmth to replace the pain in his chest, and a grin to spreads across his face. For the first time since this whole mess started Dean actually wants to make it out of this room alive and run right into Cas’ arms. He just wants one goddamn proper hug from his angel.

For a moment Dean almost forgets he’s trussed up like some sick treat for a sadistic demon whose expertise is psychological and physical torture and torment. His thinly veiled peace is quickly shattered as his head snaps sharply to the side before he realizes what had happened. Heat blooms on his cheek, the crack of skin hitting skin filling the air. Alastair's slender but strong hand lands on the opposite cheek causing his head to snap violently in the other direction.

Dean knows he’s getting off easy to start out—open handed slaps to his face were nothing—but the intensity will ramp up quickly to something impossible to breathe through, harder to tolerate. Alastair's torment would soon be something closed eyes, controlled breathing and gritted teeth won’t help manage. 

It’ll soon be overwhelming and all consuming, but if he can just hold out long enough for someone to notice something isn't right, maybe he really can be saved. Maybe he can get the chance to finally deal with some of his repressed feelings and actually work through his crap to be a decent enough person, someone worthy of love and acceptance, maybe even someone worthy of a life.

******

Dean is starting to fade, black dots floating in and out of his vision. He is ready to drift, ready to fall into the welcoming darkness. He wanted to give in so badly, wants to sink into the promised comfort of the oblivion to get the pain to stop. He wants to be home (whatever that even looks like for him), with the people he loves and who he thinks love him too, even if he can’t understand why. 

If he can just make it back to Sammy, Bobby and Cas, he would try to accept the love they so freely give him, try to wrap his head around the notion that they may actually love him without looking for anything in return. If he can just stay afloat a little longer maybe, he can be a better brother, a better son, a better friend. But all he can focus on is the drip drip dripping of his warm blood failing off his toes, landing in the ever expanding puddle of crimson on the floor. It takes him too many minutes to realize it’s all his blood. There’s too much there, he knows that, isn’t sure how he’s still conscious. He knows he shouldn’t be, it’s only out of spite toward Alastair that he’s keeping his head above the figurative water that keeps threatening to pull him under and never allow him to resurface. Spite for breaking him down completely once before, for causing him so much pain and trauma that he is still trying to get over. Spite for allowing himself to be Alastair's plaything, like a cat with a mouse, batting it around purely for entertainment purposes until the mouse dies and the cat gets bored. 

Dean refuses to play the part of the mouse again, refuses to beg, refuses to let this monster get the best of him for a second time. 

His shoulders still ache, but that’s the least of his worries at this point. He feels as though he’s been suspended and toyed with for days, although realistically he knows it couldn’t have been longer than a couple hours at most. Cas should be back soon to check in on his progress in getting information out of Alastair. What a surprise he’s be in for, seeing Dean struggling to stay awake, blood covering his body, trickling to the floor, his shirt long gone, shredded beneath him. It had been torn and ripped by one of the whips Alastair had found and decided he was quite fond of.

Dean, on the other hand, definitely was not. At some point his pants and boots had been taken off, leaving him only in his cartoon covered boxer briefs. No matter how hard he tries he can’t remember when or how that happened. He glances around trying to see if he can find the missing items. Those are good boots, dammit, but he comes up empty.

  
Although his vision is hazy, black inching in to obscure more and more every minute, closing in on him, Dean shakes his head, trying to snap it back, to give himself a few more moments of what little lucidity he still has. He decides to close his eyes and try to assess his injuries and figure out just what kind of shape he’s really in while Alastair busied himself with something across the room. 

Dean starts at the tips of his fingers and mentally works his way down, realizing he could no longer feel any part of his hands (probably not a great sign), his wrists burned and he is sure they are completely shredded from the unforgiving metal biting into the skin. This is exacerbated by the fact he’s still dangling, all his weight being supported by his injured wrists. His arms ached but he is pretty sure there aren’t any more significant injuries until he makes it to his right shoulder; his arm isn’t at quite the same angle as his left and there’s a sharp pain radiating from the joint. Hopefully it’s only dislocated, but it’s quite possibly broken. 

Continuing his mental self-assessment, he knows his face is fucked. Split lip, one eye almost totally swollen shut, most likely broken bones, including his nose which was proving difficult to breathe through. He licks over his dry, blood-crusted lips and hesitantly feels around inside his mouth, tracing each tooth with his tongue. Thankfully it seems they’re all accounted for, and Dean considers that a small win. As he continues the number and severity of his injuries becomes increasingly clear. Pain rips through his torso and he finds it difficult to separate the different sources of pain because they’re all blending together. He’s pretty sure a blade had pierced his abdomen at least once or twice, hopefully missing anything vital. He can tell at least a handful of his ribs are definitely broken. His back is on fire, and it feels as though the skin has been flayed off. He can feel the rawness of countless open wounds and he remembers the whip, knows his back is a mess of angry criss-crossed gashes. The whip had broken skin almost immediately, with Alastair not holding back, working up to swinging with his full strength after only one or two passes. He recalls hearing the loud crack snapping through the air and almost instantaneously he feels the first hit land in the center of his back, causing white spots to dot his vision, biting his lip and trying his best not to cry out at the sharp intense pain, not wanting to give Alastair that satisfaction that easily. 

On the third or fourth hit he can tell the demon’s starting to get annoyed at Dean's lack of screams, so Alastair holds nothing back and on the fifth lash he gets his wish as the whip lands across Dean's shoulder blades, and the hunter can no longer hold in his pained cries. It’s shortly after that Dean notices the blood making its way down his legs, dripping onto the clean grey floor methodically and consistently. 

The floor all but covered with his blood, an ever growing puddle that seems to mock him, taunting him to slip into unconsciousness, promising that the ever present and blinding pain will stop, that he can be done with this, he can fall asleep. At this point that sounds more welcoming than really anything else. He’s not sure when it started but he notices he is visibly shaking. He tries to control his spasming muscles, but can no longer seem to command them to be still. He is cold and tired, and he is certain he’s going into shock. 

What he isn’t certain of is whether or not anyone is ever going to come looking for him. Maybe the angels know what has happened and figure he isn’t worth their time to come save. With each passing minute and each new depraved thing Alastair decides to do to him he slides closer to that dark abyss that whispers promises to him about sweet comfort and happiness. Just as he’s resigned himself to his fate, and finally allows his heavy eyelids to flutter closed without the intention of opening them again, reaching for the warmth of nothingness that is quickly enveloping him, he hears something calling to him. 

He isn’t surprised to hear that deep timber call out to him. He had assumed Cas would be in his head, would be where he felt comfortable and happy. He tries to sink deeper into oblivion, but he is pulled closer to the surface by an unmistakable crash and rustling, and he steels himself for what he assumes is another tactic of Alastair's. When he feels no impact or additional pain he cracks open his eyes and looks around like a wild animal, trying to will his mind to piece together what was happening. Then he sees it, that god awful tan trench coat, on top of what he assumes is Alastair. An arm comes up and then plunges a blade into Alastair, accompanied by the unmistakable flicker of the demon dying. 

Dean is still unsure if this is reality, as Cas takes long purposeful strides across the room, blue eyes drilling into Dean, eyebrows furrowed, no doubt taking in the pathetic state Dean is currently in, stupid cartoon dog on his boxers, soaked with blood. Dean’s head is heavy and he’s unable to hold it up for long, but he tries, dammit, he tries. He doesn’t want to lose sight of his angel, worried that if he does Cas will somehow disappear. If this is reality, he wants the last thing he remembers to be the sight of this celestial being practically running across the room toward Dean, clear concern and worry etched on his face. Cas gently grabs Dean’s battered face in his hands and he’s almost sure he sees those blue eyes start to fill with tears.

The last thing Dean remembers is a gentle, “Hello, Dean, I’m going to take you home now,” spoken in that rich deep voice he’s grown to love so much it might have scared him under different circumstances. 

For now, he allows it to surround him as he slips out of consciousness and into a dreamless sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

As Dean slowly starts coming back to himself, he’s sure he’s dead. He’s going to wake up in heaven or maybe even hell again. He can just barely hear a voice in the distance, but he can’t make out who it could possibly be or what they are saying. They sound about a hundred miles away so he allows himself to drift back into the black inky comfort he’s come to appreciate. 

******

The next time he floats back to the surface he realizes he’s definitely in a bed of some sort, the rough fabric of a pillow gently cradling his least injured cheek. There’s a soft blanket draped over him, tickling his bare legs but only portions of his torso. He figured out eventually that this is due to the myriad of bandages that cover his abdomen and back. 

Such as it is he tries opening his eyes but is only met with continued darkness, he panics slightly thinking maybe one of his injuries was worse than he thought and he had lost his vision. He doesn’t have time to really worry much as he quickly drifts back to sleep, relishing in the familiarity of the once frightening abyss. 

******

The third time he breaches the surface, it is not done so quietly or gently like his previous resurgences. He comes violently crashing back through the surface suddenly and without warning. His eyes shoot open, and he is briefly relieved to realize he can indeed still see, as he simultaneously sucks in a lungful of air as the pain hits him like a semi truck. Something he is by no means prepared for or expecting given the last few calm and almost serene moments of lucidity he had experienced. This was nothing like those, this was being thrust back into harsh and bright (dammit so bright) reality. Dean could feel every injury like they were brand new, for a split second he wondered if he was still tied up in that godforsaken room, that he had imagined those other brief moments of comfort and calm, he starts breathing sporadically, hyperventilating, panicking, when suddenly a large comforting hand presses into his uninjured shoulder and another comes up to his face, firmly enough Dean knows they are really there, but light enough not to elicit pain, skillfully avoiding his many injuries. The hands pull Dean's focus from the spinning room and his burning lungs to a pair of eyebrows knitted together in worry over a familiar pair of icey blue eyes that Dean would know anywhere, “Cas?” he manages to croak out, hating how small and unsure he sounds. 

“Hello, Dean, it’s okay. We’re at Bobby’s, you’re okay. Shhhh listen, deep breaths, match mine…” Cas says, his voice low and soft, trying to calm him down enough so he can explain what had happened and answer all the unasked questions swimming in Deans panicked and tearful bright green eyes. Cas takes a few exaggerated breaths, motioning for Dean to mimic the deep, calm breathing. After a few minutes Dean is back to fairly even breaths, that still catch every so often when he moves in a way that aggravates an injury, but he has relaxed enough now and was staring intently back at Cas with a million questions running endlessly through his head. Dean can feel himself getting hazy again, sleep threatening to overtake him quicker than he wants it to, he adjusts himself to sit a bit higher on the bed, trying to stave off sleep for a few more minutes until he can get some answers. 

“Cas, what the hell happened man?” he asks, proud of how sure and confident he sounds, because he feels anything but, all he wants to do is sink into Cas and sleep, cuddled into his arms, protected and safe. 

“...then Alastair almost got my angel blade because I slipped in something and I realized it was...that it was your blood…” Dean swears he can hear the slightest break in Cas’ voice as he recalls what had played out days ago, “as i got my feet back under me I flung myself at Alastair and quickly took care of him.” Cas rushes on, clearly not wanting to dwell on the memory of Dean chained and bloody, and honestly neither did Dean, so the quick wrap up is appreciated. Deans eyelids are slowly starting to win his fight against sleep, but he isn’t ready to give in yet, enjoying having Cas sitting on the edge of his bed, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, close enough he could easily reach out and touch his leg without straining, blue eyes never breaking contact with his, studying him, a very slight smirk on his lips. 

“Cas, I’m really glad you showed up when you did, I don’t know how much longer I would have…” 

“Dean, stop.” Cas interrupts, smirk suddenly gone, voice rough, almost angry. Dean sinks back into the bed at the power in Cas’ voice, a tone he hadn’t heard in quite some time. Cas notices how Dean obviously increases the space between them as a result of his harsh tone and immediately regrets it, the angel sighs and wipes a shaky hand down his weary face. For the first time Dean really looks at Cas and notices the dark circles under his eyes, his mussed hair, messier than usual, his rumpled and wrinkled clothing, the way his shoulders seemed to be weighted down with the weight of the world, Cas looks more haggard than Dean ever remembers seeing him. He had seen the angel after plenty of fights, beaten and bloody, had seen him angry and stressed, but never like this. 

“Cas?” he says quietly, concern clear, “are you okay?”

Cas gives a noncommittal huff “you should get some more rest, I ’ll come check on you a little later,” he says quickly and moves to stand but before he can Dean grabs at his arm, willing him to stay, Cas glancing back at those forest green eyes that always give him pause, this time filled with worry. Cas sighs and gives in, sitting back down, somehow even closer to Dean, who is still grasping the angel's wrist, not quite ready to trust that if he lets go Cas won’t bolt. 

“I thought he had killed you, when I saw all the blood, when you wouldn’t open your eyes or respond to me...I thought…” Cas trails off, his voice smaller than Dean had ever heard it, the voice that always had undertones of authority, dominance and confidence suddenly sounded like that of a scared child, filled with doubt and unmistakable pain. 

“Cas, couldn’t you feel or hear my heartbeat or whatever, you’re an angel, can’t you just tell that stuff? Speaking of which, what's up with the bandages? Trying to teach me a lesson or something? Why haven’t you used your angel mojo to heal me yet man?” Dean asks, making sure his tone is light and jokey, adding in a chuckle at the end for good measure, even though, now that he thought about it, he was genuinely curious, usually Cas healed Dean immediately, not wanting to see him in pain or discomfort. 

Cas lets out an unamused chuckle, a sound that sends a shiver down Dean’s spine, it was the sound of a lost man, a sound made by someone who had little left to lose and had all but given up, “Dean, that is a story for another time, right now you really do need to rest. Don’t worry about me, I’m figuring it out.” Cas states in a tone that leaves no room for debate or argument as he swiftly stands up, shaking off Dean's grip on his wrist. Dean immediately misses the warmth next to him and feels tears trying to start gathering in his eyes before he angrily wipes them away. As he too aggressively flops back in the bed, he is quickly reminded of just how much he still hurts, the sharp sudden pain making him gasp and causing tears to silently trickle down his cheeks. 

He hadn’t noticed the figure still lingering in the doorway and almost misses Cas nearly whisper “please believe me when I tell you I would heal you if I could,” 

“I know Cas” Dean replies, staring at the ceiling, willing Cas to understand he isn’t upset with him, doesn’t think any less of him, after all, he saved Dean, more than once now. Deans thoughts before he drifts off are scattered, but there is no denying all of them revolve around the angel, what was wrong with him? Did it have anything to do with saving Dean? With Dean failing? How can Dean reassure him that they’ll figure it out together? What would Cas do if Dean had asked him to stay? Asked him to lay next to him? Not only for his own security and comfort but for Cas’ too, maybe he could convince the angel it would be mutually beneficial, that it didn’t really mean anything, that they just both needed someone there when the night got dark and cold, when the nightmares came clawing back, which Dean assumed would happen again before long. 

******

The next time he wakes up feels a bit more normal, no gasping for breath, no dazed comprehension, just eyes slowly flicking open, the lingering pain of injuries seeping into his awareness and for the first time he notices his stomach grumbling. How long has it been since he ate or drank anything? He assumes Cas wouldn’t have let him go longer than a few days, but he didn’t eat, so maybe he forgot Dean needed to. He groans as he slowly rolls onto his back, he is sore and achy, his wounds pull and some send off shooting pain in protest to being disturbed, by the time he is on his back he is panting, trying to breath through the pain radiating from his right shoulder, back. left thigh and hip. He closes his eyes, finds whatever resolve he has and forces himself to sit upright, head swimming a bit at the sudden change, Dean gives himself a minute to acclimate and steady his breathing once again. This was for the birds, he just wanted to get out of bed and go to the bathroom and find something to eat, this should not take him an hour to accomplish, why did he still hurt? He realizes he never had gotten a full rundown of his injuries from Cas, remembering their last conversation made Dean pause his seemingly futile attempts of leaving the bed, instead remembering the weary look on Cas’ face, the exhausted body language, how he had snapped at Dean when he had just tried thanking him for his valiant rescue, what the hell was that about? Dean had been trying to say thank you, had been trying to make sure Cas knew he was grateful and appreciated him, and Cas had interrupted and told him to fucking stop? Dean knew in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be angry at Cas, that he obviously had stuff of his own he was dealing with, but Dean is angry, at Cas, at Alastair, at his damn body that doesn’t seem to want to heal or work correctly even after what seemed like weeks of unconsciousness. 

He throws his legs over the side of the bed, gingerly standing, ready for his legs to object, there is definitely pain, but at least he is able to stand on his own, and he will take any small victories he can right now. As he slowly shifts his weight to take a step, blinding pain suddenly shoots down his left leg, the one now holding a majority of his weight, causing his typically sturdy six foot something frame to crumple to the ground with an impressive thud causing Dean to yell out, more out of anger and frustration than anything else. As he lays on the floor his anger flares brightly, his hands searching around the ground around him, finally landing on a half empty plastic water bottle, Dean grasps it, sits up as much as he can and flings it across the room, in turn knocking a knick-knack on the dresser sending it toppling to the floor, resulting in it exploding into tiny pieces scattering across the hardwood floor. He feels some small satisfaction having caused something else to be lying broken on the floor, in hundreds of tiny pieces, unable to be put back together well enough to form anything resembling what it had once been, just like he is. 

He doesn’t hear the footsteps rushing up the stairs, doesn’t hear the whispered conversation between Sam and Cas in the doorway as they see Dean, laying on the floor, openly sobbing, shaking and pounding his fists on the ground every so often. Cas shoves Sam out of the room and closes the door quickly behind him, quietly clicking the lock in place so the moose won’t barge in and make the situation even worse. 

Cas crosses the small room quickly, slowly kneeling down in front of where Dean lay, Cas knows he still hasn’t noticed Cas had even entered the room, let alone that he was less than a foot in front of him. Cas doesn’t want to startle him, or cause him to sink even deeper into whatever this is, he wants to reach out, to pull him into his arms, to surround him so nothing can hurt him again, but he knows Dean would only pull away and shut down, never wanting to be handled like he was something fragile. 

“Dean? What can I do? Did you injure yourself?” Cas asks, keeping his voice low, gentle but not patronizing or belittling, wanting Dean to feel as though he has complete control of the situation, like Cas doesn’t even notice his face is currently tear stained, his body shaking uncontrollably. 

Dean tries to say something, anything, tries telling Cas to fuck off, he is fine, he will figure it on his own, like he had always done, he doesn’t need his help, doesn’t need someone treating him like he is the child he never got the chance to be, but the words stick in his throat, choked out by the silent sobs tearing through his body. He tries to take a few deep breaths but can’t even manage that, the sobs won’t stop, the shaking won’t stop, why can’t he get control over himself, what the fuck is wrong with him? He is angry, frustrated, in pain and scared, but he will never admit it if he is asked, at least not that last one. If he had any room for self-preservation left he would have thought twice or even three times, about what he was about to do, would have talked himself out of it, would have laid there on the floor for hours before he admitted he needed help, or wanted Cas close, instead, all he can do is reach out toward Cas, hoping he understands the wordless exchange. 

Cas understands almost immediately, “Do you want me to help you back into bed Dean?” He nods slightly, still trying to gain control of himself. To his surprise Cas inches closer, slides one arm under Dean’s knees, the other behind his shoulders, doing his best to avoid the injuries on Dean's back, and stands like Dean weighs next to nothing, which he guesses for the angel is true. 

Dean hasn’t even realized his hands are grasping the front of Cas’ white button up, tangled in the fabric, his face pressing into Cas’ shoulder, unconsciously seeking out his warmth and comfort. As Cas gently lays Dean back on the bed, tears are now coming a bit slower, breath hitching only every few breaths, the shaking subsiding to a more manageable level, Dean can’t bring himself to let go of Cas’ shirt, and doesn't want to be left alone again. 

“Dean, you have to let go for just a minute,” Dean lets out a pained noise, one he would deny if anyone asked, but at the moment he doesn’t care, “I’ll be right back, I promise, I’m just going to get you some water and something to eat, less than 2 minutes.” Dean begrudgingly releases Cas’ white shirt, curling in on himself in the too big, too cold bed. 

********

When Cas finally reappears Deans shaking has started up again while the tears had subsided for the most part, breathing fairly even, but still hitching every few minutes, eyes glassy, not really focused on anything in front of him. Cas sets the water and food he had retrieved on the bed side table, unsure of what exactly to do next. He wants to sink down next to Dean, wrap his arms around him, bring him back to reality, ground him, comfort him for as long he needed him to, but he wasn’t sure if Dean would shove him off or look at him with questioning eyes, wondering when that line had been crossed and why the hell Cas thought that was okay? Cas just knows he doesn’t want to make the current situation any worse for Dean, standing silently, motionless, probably for too long, Cas decides to grab the water bottle and see if he can get Dean to drink a bit and maybe by then Cas would know what he should be doing, he hates feeling useless. 

Sitting on the bed unscrewing the lid Cas tries handing the bottle to Dean, who hasn’t even acknowledged that he’s aware Cas has come back in the room, “Hey, Dean, can you drink some of this for me please?” no response, “Dean, please, how can I help you?” Cas asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as forlorn and lost as he feels. When that still garners no response from Dean he lets out a sigh, setting the water bottle on the bedside table, he pulls the blankets back and slides in next to Dean. Careful not to get too close at first, he settles in, laying on his back he looks over at the unfocused green eyes staring past him, this wasn’t the Dean he had come to know and he wasn’t completely sure how to bring him back. He could go get Sam, but he doubted Dean would appreciate his little brother seeing him like this, he always put on a brave face for Sammy, ever since he carried him out of their burning family home at four years old, he’s been the brave soldier, the guns blazing hunter who took on anything and anyone in his way, and Cas has no doubt that he will be again, right now, he’s healing, working through some of the trauma and fear that has defined his entire life thus far. 

Cas had actually stumbled upon some of Bobby’s books covering PTSD and trauma responses over the last few weeks when rifling through the shelves trying to find something to something to pass the time as Dean laid in bed, unconscious, and Cas unable to heal him, going out of his mind with worry. He knows that’s most likely what this was, Deans head trying to handle the events of the past few weeks, past few years really, and Dean is stubborn, most likely trying to fight against the feelings being dredged back up, trying to lash out with anger (which explained the broken figurine shattered on the floor), not listening to his limits and trying to push through them (probably how he ended up on the floor), this stubborn beautiful man would be the end of Cas, he was sure of it. Without thinking much about it, so as not to talk himself out of it, Cas reaches over and gently touches Dean’s face, and much to his surprise Dean leans into it, eyes slowly refocusing and then gently closing, seeming to soak it in, like he is worried it will be taken away from him any second. Cas smiles slightly, relaxes back into the mattress and tentatively removes his hand from Deans face, slinging it around his shoulders instead, not pulling Dean closer, but allowing him to wiggle his way across the few inches between them, pressing his body against Cas’ side, throwing an arm over his chest and laying his head on his shoulder. Cas tightens his grip around Dean's back, not too binding, allowing Dean to scoot away if he decides to, but secure enough that Dean knows he is protected, that Cas won’t allow anything to happen as he sleeps. Dean lets out a contented sigh, and for perhaps the first time since Cas had met him, looks at peace, or at the very least relaxed. 

Cas turns his head so Deans short hair brushes against his chin, and closes his eyes, just trying to soak in this moment, appreciating the fact that the Dean Winchester is allowing Castiel to cuddle him, to protect him, and maybe the most astounding to Cas, allowing himself to be cared for and loved without an argument or a fight. Cas wasn’t sure if anything in the millions of years he had been alive could top this moment and he wanted to remember it always, no matter how fleeting it may be.


	4. Chapter 4

As Dean blinks awake, groggy and hazy, he notices the early afternoon light streaming through the dusty drapes, causing the pattern to dance along the floor as the curtains move with the breeze. As his eyes sleepily follow the patterns movements, he notices the broken porcelain on the floorboards, having been swept into a neat pile, he vaguely remembers something breaking, but can’t really piece together how. As he buries his face back into the pillow, willing his brain to remember what had happened, he notices the brief pine and rain smell woven into the fabric of the pillow case that is unmistakingly Cas, Dean's eyes shoot open, bolting upright, which causes a few of his bandages to pull painfully, but he hardly notices over the way his heart is beating out of his chest, panic setting in. Why had Cas been on the pillow? Had he been in bed with Dean? Had he done something dumb and tell Cas how he felt? 

Dean takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down enough to figure out what had actually happened, the last thing he remembers is waking up, scooting to the edge of the bed and standing...falling...throwing something (ah, that’s what broke the knick-knack)...then nothing, just fuzzy, disjointed thoughts, flashbacks and feelings. As he glances around the room, willing something to jog his memory, he notices a full water bottle with the lid off, laying next to it, along with a plate of some crackers, veggies and other assorted snacks. He grabs the water, mouth suddenly feeling like sandpaper, and drinks half of it down, as he grabs the plate for a closer inspection and starts munching on a cracker the bedroom door slowly swings open. Cas, trying to stay quiet, holding a broom, dustpan and small trash bin, clearly intent on cleaning up the broken pieces on the ground. 

“Heya, Cas” Dean greets, trying to sound light and nonchalant, when in reality he has a million questions and wants to ask them all at once. 

Cas startles, ever so slightly, but it’s something Dean had never seen the angel do before, Cas was always steady, sure of himself, nothing snuck up on or scared him, he is an angel after all, a warrior. “Oh, hello Dean, how are you feeling?” he asks, scurrying over to the pile on the floor and quickly sweeping it into the dustpan and emptying it into the trash, Dean can’t help but let a chuckle escape seeing Cas being so...domestic, 

“Hey, you’re pretty good at that, Bobby have you working as his maid now? Did he get you a uniform?” Dean winks, wiggling his eyebrows. When Cas turns toward the bed to throw a leveling glare his way Dean has a smug smile pulling at his lips, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Cas hadn’t seen in far too long and it takes any malice out of the glare he directs Deans way, quickly turning away pretending to make sure he had successfully cleaned all the broken pieces hiding his own almost giddy grin, damn he had missed Deans jokes, even if he didn’t always understand them. 

As Cas finishes and is about to leave he hears Dean, almost shyly ask “Hey, buddy, do you think you could help me?”, Cas turns around, setting the items in his hands down next to the dresser, 

“Of course Dean, what do you need?” 

“Well, I mean, I kinda gotta take a leak, but last time I tried...well I only remember falling, so I’m assuming it didn’t go too well.” Cas isn’t sure if he is relieved or disappointed that Dean apparently doesn’t remember what had happened earlier that morning, finding him on the floor, lifting him into bed, cuddling for a couple hours until Cas ripped himself away, not wanting to make things awkward when Dean woke up again, 

“Oh, of course” Cas replied, voice sounding too hollow, too high in his own ears. 

After some maneuvering, readjusting, grunts and groans, Cas has Deans arm thrown over his shoulders, Cas’ arm wrapped tightly around Deans lower back, the taller man shuffling cautiously out of the room down the hallway a bit and goes to remove Cas from his side as he reaches the bathroom door, 

“I don’t think I need your help in here man, but, maybe stay close, please...” Dean's voice getting softer, more vulnerable as he trails off, 

“I’ll be right here, just yell if you need me”. When Deans bladder is finally empty he turns around to wash his hands and is surprised by his own reflection in the mirror, that can’t be him. He leans closer, trying to make sense of what he is seeing, sunken eyes, remnants of bruises surrounding both, peppering his jaw, although those were somewhat hidden by the facial hair that had grown, he knew someone had to have been at least trimming it, keeping it under control. He runs his tongue over the scab that had formed where his lip had been badly split, remembering the taste of blood, remembering the labored breathing as he notices his now crooked nose, clearly having been broken. 

Against his better judgement he yanks his shirt up and notices the still angry purple and yellow bruises dotting his torso, along with some injuries that have scabbed over and all but healed, light pink lines crisscrossing his abdomen, interrupted only by a sterile white bandage starting at his belly button and wrapping around his right side, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, he tears the bandage off and is immediately met with a dark red gash, skin angry and bruised surrounding it, hardly scabbed over, looking more like a hole in his stomach than a wound that had been healing for a good few weeks, what had it looked like when he first got to Bobby's? What had his face looked like? No wonder Cas had been so concerned, he looked like a disaster now, what had it been like weeks ago, when he wouldn’t wake up, face hardly recognizable, body covered in bruises, scraps, gashes? 

Dean suddenly remembers his back, one of the few things he clearly remembers from his time with Alastair, that damn whip and the joy he had taken in hearing Dean wail and scream and seeing him writhe and twist, trying to get away and protect himself from the onslaught. He lifts the back of his grey Henley and turns his head, looking over his shoulder so he can see the damage he immediately wishes he hadn’t, more purple and yellow bruises, new light pink scars, but what catches Deans attention are more of those white bandages, and if the other one had taught him anything, it was that those were still healing, injuries so bad that nearly a month hadn’t helped them look much better than the day they were first torn into his skin. There are at least 6 covering his back, Dean isn’t sure why, but he frantically reaches for one, trying to rip it off, maybe hoping these wouldn’t be as bad as the one on his stomach, but as the bandage falls away it’s obvious these are somehow worse, not nearly as wide, but deeper, longer, overlapping. 

As he continues staring in the mirror he can hear the crack of the whip flying through the air, visibly flinching when it would have struck him, feeling the sting of the strike that would have caused this particular wound. Breathing increasingly erratic, unable to block out the sounds of Alastair’s sardonic laughter, remembering how he had flailed, cried, begged for mercy, only to be shown none. Before he realizes what has happened he is on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, leaning up against the edge of the bathtub, staring at the door Cas is currently banging on, yelling something, although Dean can quite make his words make sense, sounding muffled and under water. Dean pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, resting his forehead on the plaid pajama pants he’s wearing, trying to focus on steading his breathing. 

Cas, still saying something Dean can’t quite make out, barges into the bathroom, eyes a bit frantic, taking in the discarded bandages scattered on the floor, Deans shirt that had been thrown down beside him at some point, eyes finally landing on the man sitting on the floor, pressed as far back into the corner formed by the bathtub and the wall, knees drawn up, breathing quick, uneven and shaky, face hidden by his knees. Cas can see the bruises marring Deans pale skin, hiding many of the freckles that he had grown fond of, can see the edge of what one of the white bandages had been covering, it looks infinitely better than it had when he first recovered Dean, he honestly wouldn’t have been surprised that day if internal organs had tried making their way out, it was by far the worst injury he had ever seen on Dean, he knows how incredibly lucky they are that Dean had survived it, but Cas knows this is the first time Dean had seen it, or really any of his injuries, and by the looks of it his self inspection hadn’t gotten farther than his back when it became too much. Cas knows all too well that his left hip is still black, blue, purple and a myriad of other colors from what had been a dislocated hip, as well as another large wound on his left thigh that he was sure had cut through the muscle, but somehow hadn’t, as well as a collection of bruises and more light pink, mostly healed, lines covering his legs and feet. 

Cas slowly closes the bathroom door, clicking the lock in place, and makes his way across the small room to sit on the floor next to Dean, who is still curled in on himself, each breath shaky, flinching now and then, Cas isn’t sure if that’s because of his bare wounds making contact with the cold edge of the bathtub, or from what he’s reliving in his head. Cas carefully sinks down, close enough that Dean can feel his warmth, but not close enough to make Dean feel trapped in the corner he is backed into. Struggling to keep his hands to himself, twisting his fingers together as his forearms rest on his knees, glancing at Dean, heart breaking at how small the man looks. 

“Dean, hey, I’m here, you’re at Bobby’s, you’re safe.” Cas tries, not sure if seeing the state of his body had thrown Dean into some type of self-pity spiral because of his scars and bruises, or if it had caused him to relive the events that had caused them, if he had to guess it would be the latter. Dean is attractive, absolutely, chiseled jaw, striking green eyes, near perfect features, but with a delicate balance, Dean is pretty, there’s no better word for it, but he isn’t vain, he’s never minded scars or bruises, it came with the life he lived. 

With no movement from Dean in response to Cas’ words Cas decides to scoot just a bit closer, so they are touching. Their thighs, hips and shoulders acting as connecting points, trying to pull Dean back to this world, out of his head, Cas acting as an anchor to at least steady Dean, let him know there is something to grab onto for safety and support should he need it. 

Dean slowly registers the body pressed against him, pulls away at first assuming it to be someone sinister, someone out to do him even more harm, then he hears the soothing baritone voice he would know anywhere, speaking slowly, quietly, calmly, 

“It’s okay Dean, I’m here, you’re okay. I promise, you’re safe now,” Cas almost chants, continually, reassuringly, pleading with Dean to come back to him. 

When Dean realizes it’s Cas pressed next to him, his protector, a safe harbor in the midst of his storm, he practically throws himself at the other man, if he takes him by surprise he doesn’t show it. Dean twisting sideways so he can latch onto Cas, his arm thrown across his Cas’ stomach, pulling at him, unable to get close enough, luckily Cas understands and as he continues his calming string of reassurances he places one hand on Dean’s shoulder closest to him, carefully avoiding any of his cuts, one other arm reaching across himself to grab the shoulder farthest from Cas, twisting Dean and lifting him into his lap like it’s nothing. Deans legs on either side of Cas’ lap, head nestled into his neck, arms wrapping around his back as Cas envelopes him, strong arms surrounding him, one hand in Dean’s hair holding him steady, the other lightly dancing across his back, skillfully avoiding angry red lines, soothing, grounding, comfortable. 

After awhile Deans breathing finally evening out, muscles no longer tense or flinching, Cas begins replacing the torn off bandages, Dean isn’t sure where he had gotten the pile of clean ones that sat next to him, nor the medicated ointment, but he figures it best not to ask questions. When Cas moves to put the medication on the first gash Dean tries to protest, back to himself enough to realize he’s currently straddling his friend, half naked, nestled into his neck, he sits upright, eyes downcast, unable to look directly at Cas who probably doesn’t understand what this situation would look like if his brother or Bobby happened to come looking for them, 

“Cas, man, you don’t have to do that, I can get it, I'm not a complete invalid ya know…” he chuckles, trying to ignore the way he misses Cas’ warmth pressed against him, or the way he wants to dive back and hide his face in Cas’ neck, feeling his stubble on his face, breathing in the scent that had been left on his pillow. 

“Dean, please let me do this, you’ve caused a few to start bleeding again and I want to make sure they aren’t getting infected, you can turn around if that’s more comfortable for you though,” Cas reasons.

“Fine Cas, whatever you want man.” Dean huffs out, upset for no real reason, he doesn’t want to be in Cas’ lap anyway, should crawl off and turn around, let Cas clean and bandage his wounds, then go back to bed, alone. Dean carefully slides off Cas’ lap, crawls over, turns around, his back to Cas and sits down with a bit of an attitude. Dean pulls his knees back up to his chest, finding some comfort in the contact with his bare chest, closing his eyes and picturing them as Cas’ chest, nose nestled back in his neck, peppering light kiss...nope, no, not going there. This is Cas, his friend, an angel. Even if there was a possibility of anything, Dean isn’t gay, he doesn’t like guys like that! Well, except for those few guys in his late teens and early 20s, but that had just been getting something out of his system, he likes women, his dad made sure of it after he had caught him and his buddy Lee together after a hunt, one too many beers, adrenaline still coursing through their systems, alone and lonely in a motel room...Dean shakes his head to derail the rest of that memory playing out. 

He isn’t gay and that is that, Cas is just a good friend, a great friend, hell, probably his best friend and nothing more. 


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next few weeks Dean needs less and less help to get around, sleeps less and less, and his anxiety attacks and flashbacks are reducing in their frequency and severity, although that could also be due to the increase in his drinking. Once Dean can get around without help, and doesn’t seem to need someone ready to intervene at any minute Cas seems to be around less and less, which is fine with Dean, he doesn’t miss him, doesn’t look for him as soon as he gets up every morning, doesn’t feel his stomach drop when he’s told once again that he isn't around and definitely doesn’t think about the comfort of Cas’ arms almost nightly as he falls asleep, usually pleasantly drunk. 

Cas makes himself sparse once Dean can function on his own again, he isn’t needed now and doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. He mostly just wanders around aimlessly, nothing much to do. He hadn’t told anyone but saving Dean from Alastair had come with a few consequences, the other angels had been willing to leave Dean to his fate, as he had “failed” them, hadn’t succeeded in what he was asked to and clearly wasn’t going to agree to be Michael’s vessel, they had a lead on another option for that anyway. Cas had refused to leave Dean, refused to turn his back on his friend, opting instead to walk away from his heavenly family. This had obviously upset them, Cas had been told never to return, then they made sure he couldn’t, taking his grace, leaving him essentially human. The small bit he had had left he had sacrificed to heal Dean enough to keep him alive, if he hadn’t Cas is sure Dean would have died in that room, and that’s something Cas will never regret, even if Dean wants nothing to do with him now that he isn’t useful, he had saved a good man, and that alone is enough for him. Although now he isn’t entirely sure what to do, he has nowhere to go, no one to go to, he’s sure if he shows up at Bobby’s he will be welcomed, but he knows he would just be in the way, he had always been helpful because of his angelic powers, that’s why they had kept him around as long as they had, now he was practically useless. 

Over the last few weeks every time he did show back up to check on Dean he was met with hostility from the man, snippy comebacks, sarcastic answers to his questions, eye rolls and bickering that often ended with both men stomping away, Dean to the room upstairs, Cas out of the house, both doors slamming, Bobby and Sam often left a bit bewildered and confused in the living room or kitchen. Cas can take the hint, Dean doesn’t need him around anymore and is happier when he isn’t there. 

Cas often spends his days wandering the fields and woods around Bobby’s house, following bees and other wildlife. Sometimes making his way into town, watching people, getting to know some of them, sometimes picking up odd jobs here and there so he was able to get himself food. He would always work his way back toward the house as the night grew colder and sneak open one of Baby’s backdoors, curl up on the back seat with a blanket he had found in the trunk and then be sure he was gone again as the sun came up. It was exhausting and he knew it was in no way sustainable, but for now, he didn’t want to be far from Dean. 

He wasn’t dumb, he could smell the whiskey on him again, could see his slightly unsteady steps, hear the slight slur in his speech some days, he was drinking again and fairly regularly from the looks of it. Cas isn’t sure if it’s because he had been stuck in the house for so long, his anxiety, panic attacks or any other myriad of issues that tended to always plague the Winchesters. Either way, Cas wasn’t willing to just leave, he would give Dean his space, but he wouldn’t allow him to self-destruct completely. 

******

Dean tiptoes down the creaky wooden stairs, hoping to sneak out without waking Bobby or Sam, he has been stuck in this god forsaken house for months, he needs to get out, needs to get behind the wheel, roll the windows down, feel the night breeze whip through the interior of the Impala, feel free for one goddamn minute. He makes it to the living room without anyone stirring, Sam asleep on the couch, his too big frame spilling over the small couch, feet hanging off one end, an arm over flung his head and off the other, Dean rolls his eyes at his moose of a brother. 

The keys are laying on the counter pushed back against the wall, no doubt not having been used for a few weeks at least, he quickly grabs them, throws on his boots and leather coat and slowly unlocks and opens the back door, slipping out and shutting it with a soft thud behind him as the cool air hits his face, taking in a big breath, enjoying being out of the house, without anyone fussing over him or asking if he was really okay, he was fine, why did no one seem to understand that? Sure, he has some residual pain, but that’s what the pain meds Bobby hocked from the hospital are for. Yeah, he still has anxiety attacks now and then, but the whiskey usually helps dull his nerves enough that they aren’t debilitating like before, they were nothing he hadn’t dealt with most of his life anyway. 

He leisurely winds his way through the junkyard, taking in the clear night sky, sipping from the bottle he had brought with him that was about half empty, he could have sworn it was almost full, oh well, didn’t matter, Bobby had more. Turning the corner of Bobby’s garage he sees her, sleek black paint, sturdy, classic, his baby. A grin spreading across his face for the first time in weeks, he hadn’t realized how much he missed her, the one place he and Sammy had always been able to call home, no matter where in America they found themselves, as long as they had her, they were home. 

Dean almost breaks into a jog on his way over, getting closer, running his hand over the smooth hood, slipping the key in the drivers side door, popping the lock free, opening the squeaky door and sliding into the familiar leather seat, 

“Hey girl, did you miss me?” he asks, grinning like a fool. Settling back in his seat, he takes in a big breath and is hit with that overly familiar scent, he stills, eyes wide, is he really losing his mind? Maybe he is drunker than he realizes, that’s the only time lately he notices that smell lately...the one of pine and rain...Cas. He decides to just chalk it up to Cas having been in the Impala with Sam more recently than Dean had been, maybe to get supplies while he was unconscious, yeah, that made sense, that had to be it. As he lets out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding a gravely, sleep laced voice comes from behind him, 

“I don’t appreciate you referring to me as a girl, I am a celestial wavelength of intent, I have no gender, I thought we talked about this,” Dean whips around, causing the bottle in his lap to fall to the floorboards, spilling some of its contents before Dean can grab it, 

“Fuck! Dammit Cas, what the hell?” he barks out, reaching for the bottle, saving most of it from ruining more of the interior. 

“Sorry. What are you doing out here? You aren’t planning to drive in your state are you?” Cas asks, not accusing, simply worried, voice filled with clear concern which Dean interprets as pity, which doesn’t sit well with him, he never wants to be pitied, he is fine. 

“What am I doing out here?! It’s my fucking car Cas! What the hell are you doing out here?! Baby isn’t some kind of hostel for weary travelers! What, is heaven not good enough for you anymore? Or do you think I need a babysitter, worried I’ll break down and need someone to save me like before? News flash Cas, I’m fine, honestly, I’m fan-fucking-tastic, you don’t have to worry anymore, just go off and do whatever the hell you’ve been doing over the last few weeks! It’s obviously much more important…” the ‘then me’ clings to the back of Deans throat, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over. Before they can he turns to face the windshield and takes a long drink from the bottle in his hand, chasing away the emotion simmering just below the surface, raw and threatening to break through if he can’t get it under control. Shit, why the hell does Cas turn him into a baby? Get it the fuck together Winchester, man up, what would dad say if he saw you breaking down nearly every day? Dean knows all too well what he would say, had heard it all a million times, could recite it to himself without much thought, it was often on a constant loop in the back of his mind always reminding himself he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t man enough, had failed too many times to be worth anything to anyone. 

“Dean, I’m sorry. I just, I…” Cas isn’t sure how to proceed, he doesn’t want to lie to Dean, but also doesn't want to tell him the truth, doesn’t want to admit he wants to stay here, stay close to Dean, that he doesn’t know who he is anymore, doesn’t have anyone or anywhere he belongs anymore. “I can leave, I’m sorry I was sleeping in Baby without your knowledge, it won’t happen again,” Cas all but whispers, angry, hurt, heartbroken, trying to keep the foreign feeling of impending tears from hitting him full force in front of Dean, folding the blanket and setting it on the seat next to him Cas slides over to the door behind Dean and opens it slowly, glancing at the short light brown hair, the light pink scar barely peeking out from the collar of his leather jacket, willing Dean to look at him, wanting to see those brilliant green eyes just one more time, hoping he would see some understanding, some softness, something that would help Cas say his goodbye, but Dean stays silent, eyes forward looking through the windshield, lifting the bottle to those perfect lips every so often. Cas lets out a quiet sigh, both frustrated at the stubbornness of the man in the front seat as well as wanting nothing more than to crawl over the seat, settle in next to him and force him to talk, but he knows that would be foolish, so he slides out of the car. 

Almost as an afterthought he leans his head back in and softly says “Dean, please don’t go anywhere, don’t drive tonight. Please.” then slams the door closed, maybe a little too hard, but if he is honest he is angry and didn’t much care if he harmed Dean's precious baby. 

The door slamming seems to rattle Dean out of his self-deprecating spiral, Cas’ words registering, making him angry, who was Cas to tell him what he could and couldn’t do?! As Cas slowly slinks away from the car Dean quickly jumps out of Baby and slams his own door, he really isn’t sure exactly why, but by now the bottle in his hand is almost empty and his thoughts aren’t completely coherent or rational at this point. 

The sound gets Cas’ attention causing him to spin around, looking at Dean as if he is being ridiculous, dumb, overly emotional, Dean’s only thought is how he is going to wipe that look right off his damn face. He stalks toward the angel, eyes fiery, predatory, angry. Cas picks up on the seemingly sudden and unprompted hostility coming off Dean in waves, anyone within a ten miles radius probably could have, it isn’t hard to miss. 

Cas isn’t sure what he should do, he isn’t an angel anymore, he isn’t sure he would be able to beat Dean in a fight, isn’t sure if Dean will stop if he realizes Cas doesn’t have his usual strength because that look definitely was not giving off the impression that Dean has any intent of showing any mercy. 

The way Cas simply stands there, waiting for Dean to get to him, not moving to leave, or to bring the confrontation to Dean pisses him off, the angel thought he was such hot shit he was so sure he would easily dissuade Dean from punching him right in his smug face, not this time, no matter what he said Dean would not be calmed, not be stopped, Cas had been left unchecked for far too long. Dean had cried in his arms and then he had left, just like everyone else does. He had cuddled with him, broke down in front him multiple times, god, what the hell was he thinking, this angel was making Dean gay, making him some type of overly emotional chick, no fucking way, not anymore, not ever again. 

Cas starts looking around frantically, scanning his surroundings trying to find something that may help him hold off Dean long enough to maybe talk some sense into him. He sees a broken piece of pipe laying in the dirt behind the impala, about 4 feet to his right, Dean is now a measly foot or less from him, without much thought Cas quickly breaks into a sprint toward the pipe, having no other option, sliding to his knees, grabbing the weapon, and popping back up with his back along the outer wall of the garage, a grin playing across his face as he realizes he was pretty damn proud of himself, that was pretty awesome if he did say so himself. Unfortunately him being impressed with himself ends there, as Dean is on him quicker than he had anticipated, shoving him up against the wall by the lapels of his jacket, bringing him eye to eye with those green eyes he wanted to badly to see just a few minutes earlier, now almost unrecognizable, filled with fury, rage, anger. For the first time maybe ever, Cas is scared, legitimately worried for both himself, and for Dean. Sure he knew the Winchesters both had significant anger issues, but it was typically a bit better controlled, not unleashed upon their friends at the very least. 

Dean sees the sly smile playing across Cas’ face, thinking he is so cool, better than the angry, drunk, worthless man Dean has become anyway. Dean would show him, Cas is no better, he may be an angel, but he is soft, always wanting Dean to talk about his feelings, always using that soft condescending tone with him, always pretending to understand, always making Dean feel seen and heard...he hardly remembers shoving Cas up against the garage, definitely doesn’t remember the first blow that lands on Cas’ jaw, or the countless others that batter his ribs and face until he’s laying face down on the ground, covered in blood and dirt, curled into himself just waiting for more blows to rain down. Dean rolls him over onto his back, Cas lifts his arms, trying to protect his face, pleading with Dean to hear him, to stop. Dean gripping Cas’ jacket with one hand, the other formed into a fist waiting to land a final blow when Dean catches Cas’ blue eyes, those eyes that have watched over him when he was hurt, that have filled with concern as he was falling apart countless times, those eyes that never judge or hold contempt for Dean when he’s weak or emotional. Those eyes that are now filled with fear and pain because of what Dean has done, because of the man, no, the monster, Dean has become. 

Dean suddenly releases Cas, dropping him with a heavy thud to the ground, his hands coming up to his head, carding through his own hair, stumbling away from a battered and bruised Cas as he takes in what he has done. He trips over the long forgotten piece of pipe, falling backwards into the wall of the garage, slowly sinking down, head in his hands, muttering to himself, unable to process what he had just done. Looking over at Cas still laying a few feet from him on the ground the contents of Dean's stomach revolt and make their way onto the dusty ground beside him.

Cas carefully and slowly rolls himself over onto his stomach, bloodied face pressed into the ground, trying to work up the motivation to lift himself up, knowing damn well it was not going to be pleasant, the pain already making itself known, spreading throughout his chest and abdomen. He gingerly lifts himself up so he’s on his hands and knees, taking most of his remaining energy to not to cry out at the sharp pain that tears through the ribs, definitely broken, he thinks. As he steels himself to stand he numbly watches the blood drip off his face, splattering to the ground, his mouth tasting of copper, spitting out red, he runs his tongue over his teeth making sure the are all accounted for, and somehow they seem to all still be firmly rooted in his gums, the blood must be coming from his nose. One eye is already swelling so his vision is merely a slit, he can feel blood trickling down from a cut on his scalp, he’s sure he looks about as great as he feels. He reaches to his left, feeling for the edge of the Impala to use it to help pull himself up off the ground, when his hand meets the cool, sleek metal he grabs hold, takes a deep breath and pulls himself up. Once his feet are under him he leans his back against the car, using it to help stay upright as he wills the world to stop spinning. 

For the first time he chances a glance over at Dean, unsure if he’s even still close by or if he had fled, it would be like him to run, to not face his problems or answer for the hurt he’s caused...okay...that was harsh Cas, but he thinks he has every right to be a little bitter right now, seeing as his face is dripping blood, he probably has a few broken ribs, and he can already feel the bruises decorating his torso. Still, he glances to his right, seeing Dean pressed up against the garage, head in his hands, shaking, muttering things Cas can’t quite make out, a far cry from the aggressive, abusive man he was only minutes ago, he looks small, scared, broken. 

Cas lets out a huff, almost angry at himself for feeling sorry for the man, he had just beaten Cas into the ground, could have easily killed him, yet, this was Dean, Cas could never just walk away, he was angry, sure, but if he knew Dean (which he was pretty sure he did, before tonight anyway) he knew the man would never let himself be forgiven for what had just happened, would think about it, beat himself up over it for years to come. 

Cas’ words surprise Dean, “What the actual fuck Dean?” Cas spits out, clearly angry, words laced with contempt and disappointment, “I know you have your issues Dean, but really? Coming after me? A few months ago do you know what I could have done to you if you came at me like that? Were you trying to get yourself hur…” Cas’ words trailing off, as the pieces just clicked into place in his head, had Dean instigated this fight hoping Cas, the angel, would defend himself and in turn hurt, or even kill, him? That thought causes Cas’ vision to start swimming again, he slides down the side of the Impala, resting against it’s back tire for support as he tries to steady his breathing, trying to wrap his head around the revelation that Dean had quite possibly wanted Cas to at the very least hurt him, badly. 

“I don’t know...I really don’t Cas. I was angry, at everything, I have been for a long time. You left, you’re never around, and I realized you didn’t want to stay, didn’t want to be close to me, and I can't even blame you man, who would want to deal with this,” Dean motions to himself, “any more than they have to? I guess something just snapped, if you, my best friend, were sick of me and didn’t want to be around me, then why would anyone, ever? Hell, I don’t even want to be around me most of the time.” Dean cradles his head in his hands, sitting unnervingly still, no shaking, no tears, just staring, eyes unfocused, down at the ground. 

“You could have asked me to stay…” Cas whispers, voice low, unsure if Dean could even hear him but Cas hears him let out a soft sigh, like the wind had been knocked out of him by Cas’ words. 

“Would it really have been that easy? I’m a mess Cas, I drink too much, I'm always angry, I have panic attacks…” Dean trails off, no doubt having a list of what he deemed wrong with himself, reasons no one would love him or value him, constantly playing on a loop in the back of his head, not doubt in John’s voice, the bastard had done immeasurable damage to his eldest son, all in the name of vengeance for his wife. Cas had never met the man, but he wanted nothing more than to break his nose and knock out some, okay all, of his teeth. 

“Wait, what do you mean what you would have done months ago? Why the hell didn’t you fight back?!” Dean's voice becomes almost angry again, but not quite, when he realizes Cas had hardly tried defending himself. Slowly the realization changes Deans expression into one of concern, the fact Cas hadn’t healed Dean, hadn’t yet healed himself, the way he startled every now and then, the way his knees popped when he stood up after sitting awhile, Cas isn't an angel anymore, at least not primarily. Did that mean Cas was a human now? 

“Cas...what...when…” Dean tries to ask, but can’t quite figure out how to ask an angel if they were now a measly human. 

“That’s something we can talk about with Sam and Bobby, I would rather not retell it twice.” Cas states, very matter of factly, like this didn’t change everything, at least for Dean. He had always figured angels didn’t have the capacity for love, or caring when it came to humans, sure, Cas stuck by them, helped them when needed, answered Dean's prayers, but that’s just what angels do, it didn’t mean they love or care about the humans they protect. If Cas was human did that mean...could they actually...Dean isn’t sure he wants to go down further into that line of thinking, isn’t sure he should allow himself to hope for something he never thought he could have, know he damn well doesn’t deserve, isn’t sure if he wants to admit to himself that he may like Cas as more than just a friend and whatever that would suggest about himself and what he is or isn’t. 

Their scuffle had apparently been much louder than they realized as they soon hear a pair of feet running, rifle drawn, ready to protect themself from what may be causing such a raucous in the junkyard in the middle of the night, 

“What the hell boy? What are you two doing ou-” Bobby huffed out, gruff voice suddenly cutting off as his eyes land on Cas, “Dean, what the fuck happened?” the old man asked, setting his gun on the ground as he kneels in front of Cas, assessing his injuries, trying to piece together what had happened. 

“Bobby, I...I didn’t mean to...I don’t…” Dean tries explaining, unable to put into words that it was his fault Cas currently looked the way he did, that it had been done as a way to hurt himself, but that the angel wasn’t really an angel anymore, there was a lot to process for his alcohol addled brain. 

“Dean, it’s okay, Bobby we should probably go get cleaned up, I’ll explain everything later” Cas states, leaving little room for argument, just wanting to get to the house, to bed. He hurts, he is cold and he is tired, all of the adrenaline having seeped out of his body leaving him with nothing more than new injuries and a tragic tale to tell.

With Cas’ arm draped over Dean’s shoulders and Dean supporting most of the other man's weight they make their way slowly back inside Bobby's, up the stairs to what is now considered Dean’s room. Once Cas is in bed Dean heads to the bathroom grabbing stuff to clean Cas’ face up a bit, making sure nothing gets infected from the dirt still clinging to his wounds. Dean makes his way back to the room, arms filled with gauze, ointment, a damp washcloth and various other things out of the first aid kit he thinks may be helpful. 

“Alright, I think I have everything I need, you should probably change your clothes, those are filthy…” Dean trails off as he walks through the door and is met with Cas sprawled out on top of the comforter, wearing nothing but his boxers, snoring slightly, twitching now and then as his body relaxes into sleep, a soft smile creeps over Deans face, almost as quickly as it comes it’s gone as Dean takes in Cas’ face, his bare chest covered in bruises, some already sporting multiple colors. He did that, he hurt Cas, shit, he could have killed Cas, his best friend, the one person who understands him better than anyone ever has, who sees the Dean no one else gets to see, the scared child, cowering in the corner, crying, inconsolable, terrified. Cas who could calm his fears, silences John's voice that is almost always playing on a loop in the back of his head. Cas who makes Dean feel loved, cared for and safe for maybe the first time in his life and here Dean had all but ruined that. He isn’t sure why Cas is still even here, giving Dean the chance to apologize and maybe redeem himself somehow. Angel or not, Cas was heaven sent and Dean would never understand why he wastes his time with Dean, but he knows he will do everything he can from now on to make sure Cas knows Dean wants him there, wants him to stay. 

Dean shakes his head, clearing it and makes his way over the edge of the bed, shoving Cas’ arm out of his way so he can sit down, Cas groans and tries to roll over, inhaling sharply and grabbing at his side as the pain catches him off guard. Dean quickly grabs at Cas’ shoulder, rolling him back to his back, 

“Hey, buddy, I have to clean up your face okay? You still have dirt and gunk all over it and you’re getting my pillow all dirty,” he chuckles, trying to make it a joke, as a slit of a blue eye glares at him and huffs 

“Do what you must, but I’m not waking up.” 

“Sounds good Cas, just stay still, I’ll have you cleaned up in no time, then I’ll leave you be.” Dean works quickly, this is nothing new, wound care is basic knowledge for any hunter, as Dean cleans cuts, inspects bruises and swelling, covers the gashes, he refuses to let his mind drift to the fact that he had done all of this, not some monster they were hunting. Maybe Dean is the monster, Alastair had said as much and Dean had refused to believe that, but maybe he had been right. 

Dean finishes up, Cas once again lightly snoring, still sprawled out on top of the covers so Dean glances around the room, finding a spare blanket that he drapes over Cas and makes his way downstairs to find an empty couch, but he knows sleep won’t come easily, if at all. Normally he would just grab a bottle from Bobby’s liquor cabinet, a handful of pain meds, down them both and pass out on the first available horizontal surface, but tonight, he doesn’t think that would be a great idea. 

*******

Dean is awoken by Sam’s giant hands shaking him awake, yelling something about Cas, Dean quickly jumps up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and tries understanding why Sam looks angry, Bobby not far behind him with a similar look on his face, “What the fuck did you do Dean? Why the hell is Cas upstairs sleeping and looking like he lost a bar brawl?!” Sam continues yelling. 

Dean slinks back onto the couch, running his hands over his face, just now noticing the blood on his knuckles, Cas’ blood, his stomach turns at that realization. He shoves Sam aside making it to the bathroom just in time for his stomach to reject whatever was left in it, which wasn’t much more than bile at this point. Both Sam and Bobby follow him to the bathroom, still waiting for an answer, Dean sits back from the toilet, leaning against the cool wall, trying to figure out what to tell the two men staring holes into him, impatiently waiting. 

“Dean, what happened?” Bobby tries again, voice softer than Sams, promising at least some understanding, or sympathy. 

Dean takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and recounts what he can remember from the night before, “I just got so angry, I don’t know what happened. I heard Dad's voice in my head, I mean I almost always do, but this was more, different, angry and hateful. Cas did nothing wrong, it was all my own shit, I was drunk, I was going to go for a drive…” Dean trails off and the implication of what is left unsaid causes Sam to let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and groan as he makes his way into the small bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid next to Dean, looking down at him with those big puppy dog eyes filling with tears, 

“Dean, man, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you wake me up, tell me you were upset, punch me in the face, hell anything? Did you really think the best option would be…” Sam trails off, unable to bring himself to say it and Dean is grateful, he doesn’t want it spoken out loud, doesn’t want to feel even more pathetic about almost giving up. 

Leaning his head back against the wall Dean doesn’t know how to answer Sam’s questions, Dean honestly doesn’t know, it’s not like he had been thinking very clearly since Alastair, he knows he often jumps to ridiculous conclusions, knows his brain often lies to him, but since Cas started making himself sparse it was harder and harder for him to figure out what was truth and what was his brain making things up again, and it had been exhausting, 

“Sammy, I don’t expect you to understand, I’m just tired man, I’m tired of fighting everyone else's fights, of having nothing for ourselves, of losing everyone we love. Why do we have to be the heroes huh? Why does that fall to us? We didn’t fucking ask for it, don’t we deserve a happy life too? Don’t we deserve to find someone, settle down, have a family…” Dean trails off, stopping himself before the tears start, clearing his throat and shoving them back down he continues, “I’m sorry Sammy, I am, it won’t happen again man. I promise. You’re stuck with me for the long haul, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Dean gives Sammy a half grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he bumps his shoulder into Sam’s knee, and that apparently placates his brother enough to release Dean from his concerned staring, 

“Yeah, alright Dean,” Sam says, clearly still concerned but not pushing Dean. 

As Sam gets up Bobby, leaning up against the doorframe asks “Wait, what about Cas? Why is he sleeping, angels don’t sleep,” 

“I suppose it’s time we all have a conversation,” Cas’ gravelly voice responds from behind Bobby. 

When Bobby turns around, Dean sees Cas standing at the foot of the stairs, Deans plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips, his favorite thread bare Led Zeppelin t-shirt clinging to all the right places, his dark hair sticking up in nearly every direction, and suddenly Deans mouth goes dry, seeing Cas wear his clothes, sleep rumpled and cozy, Dean wants nothing more than to close the distance between them, take Cas into his arms and kiss him deeply, and for the first time this line of thinking isn’t met with John's voice throwing slurs at him or telling him how fucked up he is to think that way about his friend. Maybe this was something he could handle, he was fairly certain it was something he wanted, waking up next to Cas every morning, having someone he could confide in, show his emotions to openly and free from judgement, it almost sounds too good to be true, but Cas had told him once upon a time that good things do happen, maybe he had just been too blind to see that one of those good things was Cas himself. 


	6. Chapter 6

After Cas explains what had happened, how he lost his grace, why he had very little left, why it wouldn’t regenerate, why he was for all intents and purposes human, the other three men sat quietly. Bobby leaning back in his chair, wheels clearly turning in his head, processing what Cas had told them. Sam sat on the couch, back straight, brow furrowed, head slightly tilted, staring right at Cas, starting a sentence multiple times only to trail off without really asking anything, unsure of where exactly to start or what questions he really even had. Dean sat next to Sam, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor, Cas could see the concentration etched on his face, also processing, trying to come to terms with what Cas had said, trying to figure out the implications 

“Wait, so you...you gave up being an angel, your family, hell, who you are, just to save me?” Dean suddenly stammers out, shaking his head, voice filled with disbelief, eyes raising to meet Cas’, 

“Yes Dean” he answers so matter of factly, like this isn’t the biggest fucking thing anyone has ever or probably will ever do for Dean. Like he hadn’t just told them that he gave up literally everything for Dean, 

“Why?” Dean asks barely above a whisper, voice shaky, unsure if he really wants the answer. Cas stares at him questioningly, head tilting ever so slightly, blue eyes feeling like they are staring straight into Dean's soul, reminiscent of their first meeting in that barn not too long ago, 

“Dean...you’ve never thought you deserved to be saved. From hell, from Alastair, from yourself,” Dean's eyes fall to stare at the ground, unable to handle the words coming out of Cas’ mouth on top of his unflinching gaze, “I’ve always thought differently Dean, you know that. You’re special, you’re important, you didn’t deserve to die at Alastair's hand, you deserve to have a life,” Cas continues, then swiftly moving to the floor, kneeling in front of Dean, placing his hand under his chin hesitantly, ready to give him space if he required it, he lifts his chin so Dean has no choice but to stare into those glacier blue eyes, “I did it because you are family to me, more than the angels ever were, you’ve defended me, trusted me and took me in when no one else would. You, Dean Winchester, are a good man, you may not think so, but I did it so maybe, one day, you’ll believe someone when they tell you that,” Cas finishes, still not breaking eye contact, wanting to make sure it really sinks in for Dean, that he can’t just brush it off as he so often does with compliments. 

To everyone's surprise Dean launches himself forward, hands reaching for Cas’ face, tangling in his hair, knees hitting the hard floor, mouth meeting Cas’, lips pressed together before he even fully realizes what he is doing. He quickly pulls back, unsure of how Cas will react, unsure how Bobby and Sam will react, hands sliding down to Cas’ shoulders Dean glances sheepishly around the room, Bobby’s face painted with a knowing grin, Sam’s hands covering a surprised, but giddy grin, 

“Sam, can you help me with that thing out in the garage?” Bobby asks, standing and making his way to the door, very obviously trying to give Dean and Cas a moment alone without onlookers, 

“What...what thing? I don’t…” Sam asks confused, 

“Sam! Let's go son,” Bobby says, tone leaving no room for discussion, but before walking out of the living room Bobby makes his way over to Dean who bows his head, letting his hands fall to his sides, sitting back, suddenly feeling shame crash over him, worried Bobby is angry, disappointed, getting ready to kick him out, all the words John would have used in this moment flooding into his head. Bobby's large, calloused hand lands heavily on Dean's shoulder, Dean flinching, folding in on himself, protecting himself from the blows, either physical or verbal, that he fully expects to start raining down. 

“Dean,” Bobby says, tone warm but firm, Dean glancing up, his expression full of uneasiness, anxiety, Bobby meeting his worried look with one of love and acceptance, “I’m not John, boy. You love who you love, it makes no difference to me son,” he states matter of factly, simply, squeezing Deans shoulder affectionately and making his way out of the house, Sam closely trailing behind him turning back to Dean, a grin plastered across his face, 

“Damn, does this mean I have to ride in the backseat from now on? Can Cas and I trade off or something?” he quipped, Dean reaching for a book on the coffee table and flinging it haphazardly in his brother's direction, Sam skirts out the door giggling as he shuts it behind him. 

When it’s just he and Cas left in the house Dean lets out the breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, feeling some of the anxiety, worry and shame fall away. Suddenly very aware of Cas’ closeness and the fact they were now very alone together, Dean turns back toward him, 

“Hi Cas” Dean says shyly, not sure what exactly to say or do in the moment, hands wringing together in his lap. He knows they have a lot they should talk about, work through, but he isn’t sure where to start, thankfully Cas makes the decision for him, reaching for his hands, gently tugging, pulling him close so their bodies are pressed together, meeting Deans soft, full lips with his own, crashing together, drinking each other in, god he had wanted to do this for so damn long. Dean's hands find their way back to Cas’ hair, tangling and pulling slightly at the dark unruly strands, Cas’ hands wandering under Deans shirt, over his muscled back, tracing the slightly raised scars crisscrossing his freckled skin, his soft, but tone stomach, fingers dancing up his chest, feeling his heart beating out of his chest, pulling back slightly Cas rests his forehead against Deans, eyes closed, breathing heavy, glancing up through his eyelashes at Dean being met with those bright green eyes, like nothing he had ever seen, full of curiosity, love and adoration, it almost took Cas’ breath away thinking that he may be able to wake up to those eyes staring back at him every morning. 

“Dean, I…” 

“Cas, thank you,” Dean interrupts, voice thick with emotion, full of intent, 

“Dean, you don’t have to…” 

“Cas, please, I need to,” 

“okay,” Cas answers softly, sitting back on his legs, watching Dean shift to get comfortable on the hardwood floor, knees cracking. Cas suddenly stand up, offering his hand to Dean who takes it without hesitation, Cas then flops down on the couch, laying on his back, pulling Dean down on top of him, situated between his strong thighs, Deans chest against Cas’, chin resting over his heart, Cas’ arms wrapping around him, strong and secure, one hand making its way to the back of Dean's head, carding through his hair the other tracing an unknown design along his back, gently, their legs intertwined Cas’ locking him in place, but instead of feeling trapped Dean feels safe, protected. 

It takes a bit for Dean to speak again, by now his head resting with his ear directly over Cas’ heart, one of Deans hands cradling Cas’ head, playing with his hair contently, the other somewhat awkwardly caught between the back of the couch and Cas’ muscular bicep, tracing circles along Cas’ shoulder, the only part of him it could reach, but when Cas suggests moving Dean insists he’s comfortable and almost whines at the suggestion, Cas chuckles and relaxes back into the couch, content to stay this way for as long as he can.

“Seriously Cas, thank you, for...well...for everything..” Dean whispers, voice refusing to work around the lump growing in his throat, “I was sure I was going to die in that room, strung up, Alastair's patronizing laugh the last thing I heard, his sunken face the last thing i saw, and I was resigned to that, had made my peace with it,” Dean continues, trying to ignore the tears welling up in his eyes, knowing he has to tell Cas everything, he owes him that much at least, 

“Dean…” Cas says gently, not trying to interrupt, just letting Dean know he heard him, understands what he is saying, comforting and free of judgement, Cas’ hand picks back up it’s wandering over the back of Dean's head, running his fingers through his short hair, playing with the curve of his ear now and then, tracing his hair line along his neck, lulling Dean into a state of complete contentment, even while recalling the memories that would normally throw him into a tailspin, it was strange, but Dean isn’t going to question it, not wanting to break whatever spell Cas seems to have him under. 

“Like I said, I had made my peace with it, sure no one was coming for me, ready to sink into the black nothingness that seemed so welcoming. Then something reminded me of you, I can’t remember what or why, but your face popped into my head and I immediately knew I would fight to get out of there, I would hang on as long as humanly possible. I wanted to believe you wouldn't leave me, but more importantly, I knew I wanted to be sure you knew how I felt about you, I didn’t want you living the rest of your existence never knowing…” Dean let those three words unsaid linger between them, suddenly nervous, unsure of how Cas would respond, they hadn’t even officially talked about this thing yet, if it was even a thing, maybe Cas just wanted to be buddies who fucked around now and then, who even said he wanted to fuck around? Jesus Dean, you’re moving pretty fast for someone who only just admitted to himself a few hours ago that they wanted to kiss their best friend, now he’s thinking about fucking? Shit, maybe Cas is straight, I mean, he had kissed Dean back, but that didn’t always mean anything, he was newly human, maybe he just didn’t understand…

”Dean, stop.” Cas cut through Dean's increasingly frantic thoughts, tone commanding and sure, telling Dean to cut it out, to not speak those words he left dangling, clearly showing his intent was not the same as Deans. 

Dean can feel the lump in his throat grow bigger, tears brimming in his eyes as he pushes himself up and off of Cas, trying to break away, to get out of the strong arms holding him, before the tears start falling, not wanting Cas to see how pathetic he really is, in love with his best friend, forcing it on Cas who didn’t feel the same way, 

“Dean, look at me,” Cas cuts in again, tone firm. Dean keeping his face turned, knowing if he looks into Cas’ eyes devoid of the love Dean so desperately wants, needs, he knows the tears would start and wouldn't stop, and he refuses to give Cas that satisfaction, but Cas’ arms are like a vice, not loosening their grip and he struggles against them, 

“Cas, just let me go man, I get it, we’re friends, that’s fine, nothing more, I get it, really I do, just let me go and I’ll be out of your hair,” Dean chokes out, voice thick with tears that had started to fall down his face, Cas grunting against Dean's efforts to free himself, groaning when Deans elbow finds a particularly bad bruise on his side, 

“Fuck, Dean, stop!” Cas yells, Dean immediately freezing, but not laying back down, awkwardly propped between laying down and sitting up, his weight supported by hands on either side of Cas’ hips on the couch, staring straight down, anywhere by Cas. 

“Dean, look at me, please,” Cas pleads, softer than before, Dean slowly lifts his eyes to meet Cas’, brilliant green meeting piercing blue, Cas slowly lifts a hand to Deans cheek, wiping away his tears, Cas’ own eyes glassy, 

“Dean, I love you too. I have for a long time, hell, I was lost on you the minute you stabbed me in that barn. You’re feisty, stubborn as fuck and the most caring and loving man I’ve ever known,” Cas gently pulls Dean closer, hand hooked around the back of his neck, thumb caressing his cheek lightly, Cas then places the gentlest kiss on Deans forehead. Cas’ lips meeting Dean's flushed skin lingering, overwhelmed with emotion, at the intense and nearly all consuming love that flowed through him for this strong, stubborn and sometimes complete idiot of a man. 

Dean closes his eyes, allowing the love flowing out of Cas to wash over him, envelope him, protect him. It almost makes Dean's chest hurt, this love given so freely, love he would never feel he deserved, especially after all he had put Cas through, all Cas had given up for him so willingly. Cas breaks off the kiss and leans back against the armrest, Dean finally relaxing back against him, laying his head back on his chest, humming with satisfaction as Cas’ hands find their way back to their lazy meandering over his back, fingers finding their way through his hair, down the back of his neck, down his arms, touches light but sure and grounding. Dean finds himself starting to slowly drift off to sleep, something that hadn’t come easy to him for months, hell, years if he was honest, yet in Cas’ arms he feels more relaxed than he could ever remember, and right before sleep overtakes him he whispers just loud enough for Cas to hear “I do love you Cas, ‘m sorry I hurt you, ‘m sorry my dad fucked me up” words a bit slurred together with drowsiness, Cas gently kisses the top of Dean's head and quietly responds “I know Dean, we’ll figure this out” as he drifts off to sleep himself a grin plastered on his face.

********

Dean's eyes blink open, content and warm, Bobby bustling around in the kitchen, probably making dinner, he can hear him and Sam talking and laughing about something, unable to make out exactly what is being said, then Cas stirs, reminding Dean that he is quite literally laying on top of the other man. Panic quickly pulses through him, making him push up and off Cas almost instantly resulting in Dean tumbling off the couch and landing on his back on the floor with a thud and a grunt which earns him a yell from the other room from Bobby “everything alright?”, 

“uh, yeah Bobby, just...ah...tripped,” Dean responds, uncomfortable and unsure why, okay he knows why, but Bobby nor Sam seems to care, so why does he? As he laid there contemplating his issues, not all them, just those that seemed most relevant to his current situation, Cas’ face pops into view, over the edge of the couch, 

“Hey there handsome,” he greets with a lazy smile, hair sticking every which way. Dean can’t help the grin that creeps over his face, 

“Hey there Cas,” he responds, suddenly uneasy once again. Standing up quickly and somewhat ungracefully and muttering something about needing a shower he rushes up the stairs to the safety of solitude, deciding a shower couldn’t hurt, the steam may help clear his head. 

Cas, still laying on the couch, stares dumbly at Deans back as he rushes upstairs, unsure what exactly had happened just then. 

“Dean go upstairs to shower?” Bobby asks, poking his head into the living room just in time to see him disappearing on the stairs, 

“Uh, yeah, I guess” Cas responds. Bobby gives a knowing look, 

“Maybe you ought to go check on him, let him know dinner is just about ready,” he says, giving Cas a wink as he disappears back into the kitchen. Cas lays there thinking for a second before getting up and following Dean, unsure exactly what he’s going to do, but needing some answers. 

When he reaches the top of the stairs he hears the shower running, steam billowing out of the not quite closed bathroom door and before he can think better of it Cas creaks the bathroom door open, makes his way into the small room, and quietly closes it behind him but as he flicks the lock in place he notices Deans silhouette through the shower curtain still then quietly he hears Dean ask, 

“Cas?” tone uneasy. 

“Hey Dean, uh, Bobby wanted me to let you know dinner is almost done,” Cas answers quickly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck feeling awkward, “and uh, I wanted to check on you, you kind of left in a rush and i just…” he trails off, not really sure what he’s asking. Dean doesn’t respond, but Cas notices him start scrubbing shampoo into his hair, the smell of vanilla and spice filling the air, a scent that is so totally Dean that Cas can’t help but take a deep breath, savoring it, 

“So, I guess I’ll just…” Cas says, turning to the door, 

“Wait, Cas….” Dean's voice comes softly, hardly audible over the water, “I mean, do you...maybe….want to join me?” he asks timidly “I mean, only if you want to,” he adds on hastily, not wanting Cas to feel pressured if he really doesn’t want to, which he probably doesn’t, god why did he ask that, dumb Dean, you’re so damn dumb. Just a stupid queer who assumes everyone else is too, but before his thoughts can continue down that trail that would just result in more  self-flagellation  and slurs he hears the shower curtain being quietly slid open, someone climbing in behind him, not touching, not speaking. Dean turns around and finds himself nose to nose with a very naked Cas, breath catching in his chest as his eyes glide down Cas’ body, taught skin stretched over defined muscles, perfectly tanned, a few bruises left along his ribs thanks to Dean, but overall unmarred by the scars that covered Deans own body. With that thought Dean becomes self-conscious, glancing down at his own chest and stomach, scars crisscrossing his freckled skin, folding his arms over his chest, trying to cover some of the worst of them, suddenly regretting inviting Cas to join him, turning around back into the water so Cas can’t see the shame and humiliation playing across his face. 

Cas can’t strip out of his clothes fast enough after Dean invites him to join, stepping into the shower behind Dean he can’t help but let his eyes travel down Dean's muscular back, dotted with freckles, pink scars intersecting one another, two dimples above his absolutely perfect ass. Cas had always admired Deans looks, and yes had been up close and personal while reconstructing him after hell but he was somehow even better than Cas remembered, with the warm water cascading down his flushed skin, when Dean turns around Cas only reaffirms his belief that this man is downright perfect in every way. Cas wants nothing more than to get his hands all over the man in front of him, but he won’t push Dean, he knows they are standing on a ledge, that this jump will most likely result in either Dean caving in on himself or finally letting go of decades worth of shame and repression, and Cas doesn’t want to fuck that up. 

Before he can even contemplate reaching out for Dean the other man wraps his arms around himself and turns away, folding in on himself, hiding away. Cas hesitantly reaches out, hand meeting Deans wet shoulder tugging slightly, turning Dean to face him again, 

“Hey, what's wrong?” Cas asks, voice dripping with concern and worry, “do you want me to leave?” Cas offers, holding his breath, hoping the answer isn’t yes. 

“...no...please don’t...I just...gah” Dean exclaims, fist meeting the shower wall to his left, “look at you, you’re fucking perfect, and I’m...I mean look at me! Covered in scars, constant reminders of how badly I’ve fucked up, how I am nothing but something to be used and abused, reminders of how fucking weak I am! It’s not fair to you, why should you be stuck with...this?! And that’s not even mentioning the fucking dumpster fire that is my head,” Dean says, voice almost frantic, not loud but intense, filled with too many emotions, like he genuinely feels unworthy, undeserving of any adoration or love. 

“Dean, are you serious? You don’t think I find you attractive? Look at you!” Cas says as his hands come up to cradle Deans face, moving in slowly Cas presses a heartfelt and chaste kiss to Deans lips, trying to make him understand how he feels, 

“You are amazing, and these scars…” Cas says as he pulls away, starting to kiss down Dean's chest, ensuring he kisses every scar individually between his words, 

“each and every one, is a reminder what what you overcame,” another kiss, 

“how strong you are,” trailing kisses along the largest scar on Deans abdomen

“how fiercely you refuse to give up. Please, don’t you ever again think they detract from your beauty, they only add to it, do you understand me?” Cas asks, now on his knees

Dean gulps, nodding his head, unable to speak, 

“Dean, I need you to say it please” Cas prompts, 

“uh, god, yeah, okay Cas,” 

“okay what, dean?” Cas patiently asks again, left eyebrow shooting up 

“god really?” Dean whines, a blush creeping over his chest and up his neck, Cas only nods his head and much to Deans surprise wraps his hand around Deans cock, slowly beginning to stroke him, watching Dean carefully for any signs to stop, 

“ah, fuck, uh...okay...my scars don’t detract, they...oh shit...only add to my...fuck...my beauty...god Cas…” Dean manages to squeak out as Cas continues his ministrations, Dean has no idea where the hell Cas learned this, but he never wants it to stop. 

“Hmm, Good boy” Cas purrs, and that, well, that gets a reaction out of Dean that Dean was not expecting as a shiver runs down his back at the words. Before he has any time to think about that he feels a warm heat envelope him and when he looks down Cas’ mouth is on him, and god does he look good with Deans dick in his mouth, lips stretched, looking up through those dark thick eyelashes, 

“fuck Cas, where the….where the hell...shit...did you lea…” Dean tries asking, but the assault of Cas’ tongue is more than he can handle, as his hand reaches down to tangle in Cas’ hair, not controlling, simply trying to keep his balance as Cas swallows him down, as he feels Cas’ muscles work around him his orgasm crashes over him quickly and unexpectedly, he tries warning cas, pulling him off, but Cas doesn’t allow it and grabs hold of Deans ass holding him close, as he swallows his release. Deans legs doing all they can to keep him upright, clinging to Cas’ hair and the shower wall for support. When Cas stands back up Dean is on him, mouths crashing together, hands roaming, when Dean pulls back to catch his breath he rests his forehead against Cas’, 

“holy fuck Cas, if I knew you could do that I would have done this a long time ago,” Dean chuckles, 

“I’m glad my skills are satisfactory” Cas somewhat smugly replies, Dean only rolling his eyes as a response, meeting Cas’ mouth with his own again, reaching down to Cas, hoping to repay the favor when Cas’ hand stops him. Pulling back, looking at Cas questioningly, only met with a smirk 

“Bobby will be waiting for us Dean, I plan on being repaid later, don’t you worry” he winks, grabbing Dean's arms and quickly and effortlessly switching spots with him so he can wash his hair and finish up so they can make their way back downstairs. Dean just continues to stare, dumbfounded, this angel, no, this man is going to be the death of him. As he chuckles to himself Cas opens one eye while rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, 

“What” Cas asks innocently, with a devilish undertone, 

“Oh nothing Cas, I just love you is all” Dean responds, and the grin that spreads over Cas’ face as he closes his eyes again is better than anything Dean thinks he has ever seen. Placing a chaste kiss on his lips Dean steps out of the shower, toweling off, passing a clean towel to Cas when he hears the water turn off. When Cas steps out Dean can’t help but stare, both with towels wrapped around their waists, they make their way to their room to get dressed.

If they are a little late to dinner, well, no one comments because for once they spend a dinner all together, in one piece, laughing and joking, forgetting for one evening the problems plaguing them. They’ll deal with all of that tomorrow, tonight, they are going to accept that good things really do happen. 


End file.
